


The Very First Night of the Rest of Their Lives

by saintofnovember



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hot English Literature Takes, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Angst, Other, Some Art History, The Night After the Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), body switch, literally so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintofnovember/pseuds/saintofnovember
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale and the night after the Almost Apocalypse and their attempt to figure out what they're going to do about Heaven and Hell.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I originally wanted to complete this before I posted any of it, to make sure I go through with it, but I desperately wanted to post something for the 30th anniversary of Good Omens,,, so here you all are. I know I could do with a nice dose of these little bastards right now so I hope this warms your little self-isolation heart. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to get the other chapters out soon!! This is my first chaptered fic, and I'm well excited for it. I don't think this one will be too long. 
> 
> I hope to do a longer historical AU for Good Omens soon too! Let me know if there's any specific time periods you'd like to see. I recently read On Espionage and Prophecy by RockSaltAndRoll and dear God I've never read a fic more intriguing and lovely. I put off rereading Harry Potter for it I definitely recommend. There's a reference to a first edition Oscar Wilde book in here and you bet that's an omage to that fic. :))

“You could stay at my place.” Crowley was laid out on the bench beside Aziraphale; the artful lines of his slouch were tailored, a study in insolence.

Aziraphale gave a small rueful smile as he looked away. “I don’t suppose my side would like that very much.”

“You don’t have a side anymore.”

Aziraphale looked back, sharply, something like hope working its way onto his face.

Crowley’s expression mirrored his, with something like a smile playing in the line of his mouth. “Neither of us do.”

At a hand from Crowley, the bus exhaled loudly and pulled up next to them. They boarded, Crowley swinging himself chaotically into a seat by way of a pole, and Aziraphale following more sedately.

As the bus began to move once more, and Crowley looked out the window, Aziraphale pondered the events of the day. Agnes’ last prophecy was something about changing their faces. He supposed when Heaven and Hell did come for them, it would be for a punishment.

Heaven crossing his mind reminded him of his discorporation. Which reminded him of Crowley, as things usually did. Those few minutes in the bar had seemed… odd. Not in the least because he was fighting to stay corporeal, but there had been- something else. Crowley. That was it. It was Crowley, like it always was. He had been-

“Crowley, in the bar earlier-”

“What? Oh-” He had unstuck his face from the window to turn and look at Aziraphale, but now he turned away again.

“No! Crowley, I mean, I only meant to offer my condolences to you. For your… the friend. That you lost.”

Crowley glanced at him sharply. “Ah. Uh- thank you. I was-”

“A bit distraught?”

“Uh- heh. To say the least.”

Aziraphale looked at him sidelong; his arms folded arms, chin tucked to his chest. “Everything turned out alright, though, in the end?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it’ll be alright.”

They sat in companionable silence for the rest of the bus ride, occasionally whispering to each other about the driver, or someone getting off the bus, or a tree outside that almost whipped the bus windows.

“That one nearly got us!” Aziraphale chuckled. “Lucky thing the window’s not open.”

“Lucky thing we’re back in London. Bloody traffic.” Crowley unfolded his limbs and groaned.

Aziraphale could practically hear a complaint coming on, so he said, “Come on, I’ll take you inside, make you a cup of tea, and you don’t have to remind me that you feel like a tree being kept inside a shipping box.” Aziraphale stood and adjusted his waistcoat, one hand on the pole to keep from falling.

Crowley stood up. “We’re at my flat, Aziraphale. The book shop-” The bus came to a hissing halt underneath them.

“Oh, yes. Right. Of course. Well then,” he offered his hand to Crowley, “I’ll pour the wine.”

The inside of Crowley’s flat was dark. After locking the door behind them, Crowley flipped on a light. This did little to improve the place’s austerity, but it did light up a vast statue in the middle of the hall. Aziraphale walked toward it.

“This is… nice.”

Crowley loped up behind him. “Heh. Yeah- based off “The Wrestlers” from the Medici collection.”

“The Medicis- my dear boy- you didn’t-”

“Based off of, angel, someone copied it, took inspiration from it, whatever. Added the- angel wings. I don’t steal from priceless art collections.”

He got ahead of and turned to face Aziraphale, blocking the statue. “But you-”

Looking away quickly, Aziraphale rubbed his thumbs against the inside of his palms, and shifted his feet.

“Oh, I knew it. Bloody angel. I can’t believe it. I’m so in-” Crowley, who had done a bit of a caper, hitched. His arms hung in mid-air for a moment before he dropped them limply to his sides.

Aziraphale took a step closer. “So in what?” He was near enough to see Crowley’s Adam’s apple bob before the latter turned away and let out a breath.

“Whatwasit. What. Was it that you stole?”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t steal?” Crowley was backing away, a smirk wide on his face, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“I was under the impression that we were honest with each other.”

“It wasn’t stealing!” Aziraphale huffed as he hurried to catch up with him. “I was- carrying out justice!”

“Ah hah! And what did angelic justice- bring justice- to?” They were in the kitchen now, Crowley reaching for a silver cabinet handle.

“A book of mine was taken, well, bought, but not for any price that should have been reasonable! The fellow was quite adamant that he shouldn’t have to pay more than fifty pounds and I disagreed, I mean one hundred pounds for a first edition Wilde at least is reasonable.”

Crowley poured red wine into a waiting blue glass. “Oh, at least.”

“Exactly, my dear, that’s exactly what I told him. But, he was causing quite the fuss in the shop, and I’d already had quite a day, what with the Ritz not being open for that date we had planned.” He accepted the glass Crowley offered him. “Oh, and that dreadful Mrs. Ruth who wouldn’t stop hanging around, dropping names of clubs she thought I’d be interested in.”

Leaning back on the counter, Crowley cocked his head. “Hang on- what clubs?”

Aziraphale waved his hand as he took a sip of wine. “Oh, just some around Soho. I’m not big on loud music and _that_ kind of dancing, you know, so I never went to investigate her suggestions. Anyway-”

“What kind of dancing don’t you like? I thought angels didn’t dance, well, ever.” Crowley said, as he took a sip of his wine.

Aziraphale could feel his cheeks beginning to warm and hastily said, “Oh, well, you know, at the time when I would have frequented such establishments, the dance of choice was much more refined. I learned to dance at one, once.” He studiously avoided Crowley’s eyes. “I feel as though we have left the train of thought we had begun on.”

“I think,” Crowley said, punctuating this with a tip of his glass in Aziraphale’s direction, “you’re right.” He raised an eyebrow. “But this is much more interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Thank you so so much for reading!! I have most of this fic planned out so stay tuned!! I love you all and I hope you're staying safe and being kind to yourself and others.
> 
> Also I’m from the U.S. so when I was writing this I discovered that there are a ton of gay bars in London Soho and that was a fun thing to research Aziraphale I see you-  
> (Also since I'm from the U.S. please excuse my lack of knowledge about British people & culture I love you all but understand your government and habits very little.)
> 
> You can find me on Instagram @apricotsaint or @aecaeles, and on tumblr @eganantiquus!!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banter, and fluff, and the switchy switch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE RETURNED HALLELUJAH. I'm so so so excited about this fic. I've been wanting to write it since I finished the show. Since delving into the fandom and the fanfiction, I have discovered it's literally the Most Common Fic but you know what I Don't Care I will!! Write it!!
> 
> Anyway please enjoy this chapter!! It turned out way longer than I expected lol~

“Ah, well. I don’t know about all that. I don’t think I’m very interesting to be around.” Aziraphale gazed steadily into his wine glass and swirled the dregs around. 

Crowley furrowed his brows slightly. “You,” he said, tilting his chin up towards Aziraphale, “are the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Aziraphale blustered, one hand fluttering about before settling on his waistcoat and smoothing the worn fabric. “I mean, if you like books, but you don’t read.”

“Aziraphale, we’ve been friends for ages. Ages and ages. Humans would -well, maybe not  _ die,  _ but- do a lot of things to hang around their best friend for six thousand years.” 

“Best… friend?”

Crowley scoffed. “Of course you’re my best friend, angel.” He took a sip of wine and held his arms out to indicate the expanse of the universe. “Who else is there?” 

Aziraphale stood stock still. “Then… Well, you mean to say that it was me who you were talking about earlier. In the bar, I mean.”

Crowley felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Yeah.”

“But you said- on the way here-”

“I was talking about you.”

There was silence.

Taking another sip of his wine in an attempt to calm his racing heartbeat, Crowley added, “Don’t ever discorporate again. I was fucking terrified.”

Aziraphale scrunched his nose indignantly. “It wasn’t intentional! I was trying to contact the Almighty, and that  _ idiot _ Shadwell tried to exorcise me!”

“I thought they’d set hellfire on your bookshop, Aziraphale.” Crowley ran his thumb over his clenched fingers. “I thought- I thought I’d lost you. Forever, I mean.” He looked away.

Aziraphale softened instantly. “Oh, Crowley.”

“Don’t ‘Oh Crowley’ me! We’ve got- we’ve got work to do. We still have to figure out what to do when Heaven and Hell come. I’m betting we only have until tomorrow at best.”

“Well, if it comes to that-”

“Which it will-”

Holding up his hands in acquiescence, Aziraphale continued, “We will have to be ready. I have Agnes’ last prophecy about us somewhere here, hold on.” He dug around in his pockets before producing a small torn paper. 

“ _ When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre.” _ Aziraphale read. “Choose our faces wisely…”

Crowley’s mind grappled with these words, an answer evading him. He sighed. “Well, I for one, cannot figure out what that means unless I am extraordinarily hammered and have no higher brain functions to rule out the stupid options.” 

Aziraphale gave him a withering look.  
“Tempt you, must I?”

Looking Crowley straight in the eye, Aziraphale poured himself another glass of wine.

The clock on the mantelpiece read a much later hour by the time Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves lounged on the two chairs laid out in the living room.

“How can you possibly sit in this, Crowley dear?” Aziraphale said, adjusting himself uncomfortably for the fourth time. 

“I don’t, really.”

Aziraphale winced. “Well, it’s bloody uncomfortable, that’s what it is.” 

Lazily, Crowley said, “Heh, the angel curses.”

Tossing him a scowl, Aziraphale said, “Oh, lay off it.”

“I won’t.”

“Will.”

“Shan’t.”

“I don’t think… that counts.” Aziraphale mumbled”

Crowley gazed at him lazily. “It does.”

“I bet you invented contractions.”

“Nah. Couldn’t have. I was in-” Crowley searched his mind for a place which would have had nothing to do with the origins of Early Middle English and came up wanting. “Oh, I don’t know. Bloody Shakespeare ruined it anyway.”

Aziraphale cupped his wine glass in his palms. “No dictionaries.” 

“Hmm?”

“There weren’t. There wasn’t. No dictionaries. For Shakespeare.”

“Oh.”

“The first one in Modern English was published in 1604.” 

“Heh. We saw Hamlet... around then, didn’t we?”

“1601. There were grapes. You made it an instant success, as I remember.”

Crowley set his glass down. “I wish,” His head leaned back and he gazed at Aziraphale over his feet propped up on the coffee table. “I had your brain. Like, to remember things. How do you even... know that?”

Crowley saw Aziraphale’s cheeks go rather ruddy before he said, “Oh, I don’t know. Perks of being an angel?” 

“I couldn’t remember things like that before I fell.” 

“Well, I’m not the one who fell asleep for a century because we got into a tiff- Hang on! What did you say?”

“Hey- Wait, I thought you... You just said you had a great mem-”  
Aziraphale cut him off excitedly. “You said ‘I wish I had your brain.’ Crowley, you’re a genius!”

Crowley’s aforementioned brain couldn’t handle the abrupt turn in conversation. “What?”

“I need to have your brain! Well, I mean technically your body, but  _ it makes sense!  _ Crowley, this is what we have to do!” Aziraphale’s eyes were bright, all traces of exhaustion and alcohol momentarily gone.

Crowley was reeling, but the only thing he could pull to the surface with any clarity was, “I don’t follow.” 

“Agnes’ prophecy! We must  _ choose our faces wisely. _ I need to choose your face, and you choose mine!”

“So when Heaven comes to get you, they get me instead.” Crowley said slowly. “Hang on, so why does that help us?”

“Well, I imagine that they will want to punish us in the worst way possible. And that means… Hellfire for me. Holy water for you.” 

“So if we’re switched…”

“It might not kill us.”

“Do you think this is how humans feel, you know, when they go outside? Drive cars? Go… rock climbing?”

“I suppose. They are surprisingly resilient, though, they’re not given enough credit. But Crowley, this is how we’re saved! We just have to act like each other, and it’ll be fine!”

“Well, first of all, I can’t possess you. While you’re possessing you.” He flapped one hand at Aziraphale. “So to speak.” He used the other to scrub his hand over his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. 

“Well, I suppose that means we’ll just have to… possess each other at the same time, then. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Crowley fixed his glasses and behind them, directed the most award-winning eye roll he could muster at Aziraphale. “Right, yeah. What’s that- what’s that saying? Rome wasn’t built in a day?”

“You know perfectly well how long it took to build Rome!”

“No I don’t-”

“And  _ anyway _ , it doesn’t matter because we either get this right or we-” he broke off, and swallowed. When he resumed speaking, his voice was softer. “Or we die trying.”

Looking deliberately at the clock over the mantelpiece, Crowley said quietly, “Well, for my part, I’d rather die with you than in hell.” When he looked back at Aziraphale, he saw the angel close his eyes as if to collect his thoughts. 

Without opening them, Aziraphale said, “We best get it over with, then. I mean, we’d better practice.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Crowley groaned as he sat up, rubbing his face. “I’m going to sober up, though.”

“Wouldn’t want to be tipsy when exploding, I suppose.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed, “Shut  _ up _ ,” at him. He wasn’t even sure if Aziraphale’s eyes were open, but he knew that he would grasp the sentiment just as well from his silence.

When the wine bottles littering the table and the floor had been refilled, (and one or two recorked when it was discovered they had begun to leak on the single tasteful rug beneath the coffee table) Crowley and Aziraphale stood a few feet apart, not looking at each other for a long minute. 

The lack of alcohol running through Crowley’s veins (or, what probably passed for veins) was making him seriously amend his policy of Things to Agree to While Drunk. He could see the outcomes of this situation clearly in his head: they both would go up in flames, and his flat, along with his plants and aesthetically sparse decor, would be irretrievably ruined. They would probably end up in heaven and hell, respectively; an early and delightful present for their head offices. 

Or, they could succeed. There was a  _ chance _ , a one-in-one-thousand chance that this could work. And then-Crowley’s heart burst into rapid bloom-they would be free. Free to spend the rest of their time on Earth, reveling in each other’s company. Going on long walks. Going for that picnic Aziraphale had promised him in- oh, when was it? The 1960’s, sometime. 

His mind quickly rabbited away from the memory, but not fast enough. Caught in the trap, as he so often was, Crowley watched their conversation play out, watched Aziraphale pull out the thermos, watched himself take it, run his fingers over its surface, realization dawning once again. He  heard himself offer Aziraphale a lift, heard the polite declination, and the hope. His current heart soared alongside his memory one; it almost beat fast enough to drown out Aziraphale’s response. 

_ “You go too  _ fast  _ for me, Crowley. _ ”

He didn’t think he was going fast now. As he dragged himself back to the present, he registered Aziraphale’s concerned eyes measuring his face, cataloging the space between his eyebrows for later reference.

Blinking rapidly, Crowley shook himself. Once he thought the situation over once more, he decided he’d stick with the plan they’d made. He really would rather die with Aziraphale in the place he had made for himself than in the suffocating halls of Hell.

Crowley stuck out his hand. Aziraphale’s eyes flicked downwards to meet it before snapping back up to Crowley’s. 

“What-”

“It’s- we should-” Crowley cleared his throat. “I think it would be best if we shook hands.”

A small smirk bloomed on Aziraphale’s face, making his eyes flare with a heat that rooted Crowley to the concrete where he stood. “You always were a dramatic bastard.”

He managed a small bow, a smirk of his own working its way onto his face. “ _ Flaming sword _ .”

Reproachfully, Aziraphale blustered, “That wasn’t even- I didn’t  _ want _ that!”

“So I gathered.”

Aziraphale huffed a breath which sounded suspiciously like a laugh and grasped Crowley’s hand without hesitation. “Now then. We- Crowley, you have to look at me!”

Crowley had been staring at their hands as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The intensity of his surprise told him he truly hadn’t expected Aziraphale to agree. 

Now that he was holding Aziraphale’s hand, he found it necessary to move closer so his arm wasn’t fully extended. They stood, Crowley gazing down at Aziraphale, before the latter reached for Crowley’s other hand. 

A foot apart now, the pair watched their linked hands. Slowly, they raised their eyes to each other. 

“Wait.” Aziraphale broke their hands to reach up and remove Crowley’s glasses. He discarded them safely on the coffee table and resumed his place, taking Crowley’s hands once more.

“Right.” Crowley said, his voice cracking.

“Yes.” Aziraphale breathed.

“If this- doesn’t work, angel-”

“It will.”

“Wait. If this doesn’t work, I just want you to know-” He broke off and cut his eyes away.

Aziraphale brought one of their pairs of hands gently up to Crowley’s jaw for a brief moment. “What is it?”

With effort, Crowley pulled himself back to look at Aziraphale. “It’s been a bloody fantastic six thousand years, running around with you. Doing miracles. Saving you. It’s been- you’ve been-  you’ve made me- incredibly happy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he tried to back up, to drop his hands, to do something to  _ get away _ , but Aziraphale held him fast.

Holding each of Crowley’s hands in his, he said, “Well, darling,” Crowley felt a little illicit thrill run through him at this, “you have my word I won’t tell anyone.” 

He grinned mischievously, and locked eyes with Crowley, and the only thing Crowley could see was _blue_ _blue blue blue-_

_ Yellow. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi!! Thanks so much for reading!! I hope to have this finished soon, but no promises, as unlike these two I am simply human and suffer from lack of time to complete my hobbies.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEET HERE IT IS I'm so happy with how this turned out.

When Aziraphale opened his eyes, he saw himself staring back. This person, however, wore an expression that was far more mischievous than Aziraphale thought he had any business looking. 

When Crowley spoke, it was clear that it wasn’t with Aziraphale’s voice- but it wasn’t exactly  _ Crowley’s _ either. It was Aziraphale’s intonation, but about eight tones lower and seven shades more insolent. “Well, that went down like a piece of candy.”

“For once, I actually agree.” Aziraphale wondered, too, at the sound of his own voice, because this one wasn’t his either. It was Crowley’s, but about eight tones higher and seven shades more polite and refined. 

Aziraphale shook out his sleeves a bit, and wiggled his shoulders. “Fascinating.”

“What?” 

“I’m- You’re taller than me. It’s strange. Also, it feels as though I might blow over in the slightest breeze.”

“Oi. A bit of respect, please.” Crowley said, holding up a hand. He tried to sneer and wound up looking befuddled.

Aziraphale cackled. “Crowley! You look ridiculous with that face. Pray, continue.” 

Crowley threw his hands up in the air rather stiffly, not accustomed to the lack of mobility Aziraphale’s clothes afforded him. “First of all, it’s your face. Second, why on earth do you wear so many layers? I’m suffocating here.”

Aziraphale offered Crowley a side-eye. “I could take them off, if you like.”

Crowley sputtered in quite an Aziraphale-like manner. 

“Keep that up, and you’ll even fool me! Although I didn’t realize I...” Aziraphale trailed off. 

“What?” 

“It’s nothing, nevermind.”

Crowley looked at him keenly. It was mildly disconcerting coming from Aziraphale’s own face. “You noticed that you blush, didn’t you!”

Aziraphale remained silent, holding onto the back of the couch for support. 

“Oh, you do. It’s quite endearing.”

Aziraphale shut his eyes, the image of his own face burned into his mind. He knew Crowley had been looking at him, watching him, perhaps the way Aziraphale watched him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so spot on. Even when he was teasing, even when it was to make Aziraphale laugh, Crowley couldn’t help but mimic him perfectly. 

He was suddenly struck by the realization that six thousand years was quite a long time to know someone. Although they hadn’t been friends for that long, as Aziraphale had  _ constantly  _ reminded himself and Crowley. Even in the days just before Armageddon, Aziraphale had brushed off their relationship like it was nothing. Like six thousand years was just a day in the life of an angel. Which, he supposed, it was, but he hadn’t ever been a very good angel.

Crowley touched him lightly on the arm, jerking him out of his reverie. “Are you… all good?”

Aziraphale opened his eyes and gave a tight smile. “No, no. I’m quite alright.” There was a beat of silence where Crowley tilted his head in acknowledgment that it wasn’t quite alright, but that he wouldn’t push. “I suppose we should, ah, practice walking? If we’re to be believable, that is.”

Crowley darted into action. “Ah yes, yes.” He twirled a few fingers as he stepped from behind the coffee table. “I am Aziraphale, and I’m anxious.” He shrunk his shoulders a bit. “I live in a bookshop.” He made his mouth smaller, pursed his lips. “I love strawberry tarts and angel food cake, and I walk like  _ this.” _

He proceeded to give a fantastic rendition of Aziraphale’s anxiety walk; two fingers twisting the ring he wore on his pinky, small steps, gazing off into the lower middle distance. 

When he reached the other side of the room, he turned around, his arms spread wide. “Your turn.”

Aziraphale took a moment to steady himself. It was still incredibly strange to see  _ himself _ walking around without him. And knowing it was Crowley… piloting… made him feel rather strange. 

“Alright. I’m Crowley.” He tossed his head to one side, and stared at Crowley, chin tilted up. “I’m walking away from chaos,” he gave a smirk, “knowing that I caused it.” He flicked his tongue out over his bottom lip and grinned. “I terrify my plants.” he shoved the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “And,” he said, starting towards Crowley, “I walk. Like.  _ This. _ ” At each word, he swung his hips. By the time he’d sauntered all the way across the room, Crowley’s mouth was hanging open.

“I don’t walk like that.” 

Aziraphale began to smooth his jeans before remembering they were so skin tight, it was unnecessary. He gave a funny little smile. “Oh, you really, really do.”

“Been watching, have we? Been taking notes?”

“Oh shut it, you’ve got my facial expressions down _perfectly_ , you’ve no right to talk.” Aziraphale hissed.   
Crowley bit his lip, his cheeks a bit pink. “Keep talking like that and you’ll talk yourself right into Hell.”

“Like what?” Aziraphale cocked his head innocently, furrowing his eyebrows.

Crowley folded his arms, and held his ground. The pose looked somewhat alien on Aziraphale, and probably felt it too, because Crowley unfolded his arms and stepped his legs together a second later. “You know- what you’re doing.”

“Do I? What is it?”

Crowley stamped one foot a little hysterically. “Being a right bastard, that’s what. It’s downright unsettling. I don’t know what to expect!” His voice pitched higher at the end, and his shoulders drew up, almost voluntarily.

“Ah, see- there! You’ve got it!”

Several hours later, Crowley was strutting around, trying to imitate his walk with Aziraphale’s short legs. Aziraphale watched him, occasionally doubling over with raucous peels of laughter which radiated around the kitchen. As he rounded the island in the middle of the room again, Aziraphale stepped in front of him. Pulling up sharply to accommodate, Crowley stumbled backwards, wheeling his arms; Aziraphale’s arm shot out to catch him. 

“I think maybe that’s enough practicing, then, dear.” Azirapahle said as he hauled him back up. 

Crowley regained his footing and steadied himself on Aziraphale’s chest. Which was. His own chest. This was so strange. He let out a giggle. 

“Oh, what now?” Aziraphale couldn’t help giggling along.

Crowley looked up at him, and he knew he was beaming, that winning smile that had melted his heart all those millenia ago. His hands tangled in Aziraphale’s- his coat. “Heh. This is. This…” He swallowed. “ _ What _ is this?”

Aziraphale just looked at him. “What is what, darling?” 

Even after all this time, Crowley couldn’t get used to the sight of his own eyes. He hid them well enough that most of the time, he forgot they were demonic at all. But with Aziraphale staring him down, Crowley had no choice but to face his demonic exterior. He didn’t know how Aziraphale put up with him when Crowley took his glasses off. If he were Aziraphale, ( _ Heh,  _ he thought,  _ and I suppose I really am, _ ) he would look away. 

He looked away. “What are  _ we?” _

Touching his chin softly, Aziraphale turned his head back to face him.

Crowley supposed he had looked nicer when he had been an angel, but the truth was he was forgetting. He was forgetting how he had looked as Raphael, just as he had forgotten what it was like to be touched by goodness, by light, and by  _ love.  _

When Aziraphale touched him, it was like a breath of sweet air. He remembered the smell of Eden, the first flowers, heavy with sweet scent; the first birdsong; the first glistening leaves and the smell of dew and earth and  _ life- _

_ Blue.  _ He was gazing down into blue eyes.

When Aziraphale touched him, he smelled heaven. Not the heaven that became hazier in his mind with each passing year, the one which had cast him out. He smelled the one they had built, the bookshop, the dinner dates, the rides in the Bently. All the years they had spent orbiting around each other like stars.

Crowley’s hand was still on Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I think we are as old as the stars.” Crowley looked down, and Aziraphale’s eyes were wet. 

“Yeah?” Crowley croaked, finding himself oddly choked up.

“I think we are wild and fierce.”

Crowley was hanging onto Aziraphale’s every word, like he had invented English, like he had written the first sonnet, like he had created the world’s first love story. (Knowing Aziraphale, it was probable that more than one of these was true)

“What is the definition of love?”

Crowley said nothing,  _ could  _ say nothing.

“To love someone is to confide in them. To trust them. As the humans so cleverly put it, ‘in sickness and in health.’ To love someone is to know someone so wholly that you are not sure where you end and the other begins.” 

“And Crowley-” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh  _ Crowley.  _ I have loved you for as long as I can remember.”

For a long moment, Crowley said nothing. Then- “I never knew.” he said simply. 

“Oh my dear, I am so sorry-”

“Well, I don’t think it was entirely your fault. I did go to sleep for a century.”

Aziraphale straightened his bow tie around Crowley’s hands. “Yes, about that- I was quite lonely. People at the bookshop were  _ so _ bothersome and I had  _ no one  _ to talk to about them. It was bloody infuriating.”

Giving Aziraphale a watery smile, Crowley said, “Next time I’m about to _pop_ _off_ to sleep for a few months then, I’ll warn you. And Aziraphale?” 

“Yes?”

Crowley took a deep breath. “I love you too.”

Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley melted, right on schedule. “What does that make us?” he asked.

Crowley slid his hands off Aziraphale’s chest to scrub at his hair. “Probably the most wanted duo in Heaven  _ and  _ Hell. Must be some kind of record.”

They were silent for a few moments, considering this. 

Stepping back to lean on the granite counter-top, Crowely asked, all casual, “Any labels strike your fancy?” 

“Ah, I’ve always preferred ‘ _ Hertis Rote. _ ”

Crowley had to take a moment to restart his heart before choking out, “ _ My heart’s root _ \- that’s- Middle English, isn’t it?” His heart was now performing complicated flips and leaps inside his chest.

Aziraphale looked positively radiant. “Yes!  _ What  _ a good memory you have. There was a poet from the Middle Ages in Kent- lovely chap, but no rhyming skills  _ at all _ , and he- well,  _ I  _ persuaded him that it would be  _ quite _ the thing to use in one of his more  _ romantic  _ poems, and it  _ just so happened  _ to be an allegory to the Garden of Eden and…” He trailed off, looking sheepish.

Crowley was giving him the look that meant he thought Aziraphale had hung the stars. From Aziraphale’s answering gaze, he knew the sentiment was returned.

“You wondrous creature.”

Fidgeting, Aziraphale blushed. “Well, I-”

Crowley pushed off the counter and wrapped Aziraphale in a tight hug, burying his face in the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale, startled, wound his arms around Crowley’s back, one resting just at the nape of his neck, the other coming to rest at his hip.

“Well,” came Aziraphale’s voice, somewhat muffled from somewhere around Crowley’s chest, “if  _ this _ is how humans feel when they hug, I’m baffled as to why they ever stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all!! Thanks so much for reading dears. Stay safe, and stay inside. Set your alarm clocks for July.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> s p e c i a l e x t r a b o n u s c h a p t e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't not include this little fluffy wrap up- I wrote it out at the beginning, and it was just so sweet- I couldn't bear to scrap it. Enjoy!!

“So, angel.” Crowley murmured. His breath just grazed Aziraphale’s nose. They were lying in Crowley’s bed, a soft navy duvet pulled up close beneath their chins. Underneath the blankets, they held each other.

“Yes, my  _ hertis rote? _ ”

It took a moment for Crowley to recover before he could start. “What was it,” he ran the back of his hand  _ oh so gently  _ over Aziraphale’s cheek, “that you stole?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “Mmm. That’s- that’s a funny one. Funny- you’ll like it.”

Crowley smiled. “Funny I’ll like it?” 

“Well, I stole  _ The Fall of the Rebel Angels.  _ Fifteen sixty-two, Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Netherland-ish Renaissance painter.”

Crowley was glad Aziraphale had closed his eyes, because his eyes were watering, a function Crowley had not appreciated properly since before his century-long nap. A sniffle escaped him. “So- ah, this painting, uh, where was it?”

Oblivious to Crowley’s distress, Aziraphale continued, “Well, I went to his home to wheedle a better price out of him, and I was just sat waiting in his library. It was in a lovely golden frame just leaning up behind some bookcases.” Even with his eyes closed, Aziraphale was remarkably expressive. “Really, he should have been taking better care of it, the  _ bugger _ . Four hundred and fifty-seven years old and collecting dust on the floor of his study. Well, anyway. It was just sitting there, and he’d been so… awful. I just- took it and left. I figured that sort of... paid for the Wilde.” He was smiling slightly, as if he knew just what sort of effect his words were having, and liked it.

Crowley gazed at him in awe. His mouth hung slightly agape. “You just. Took it. From him. Angel-” He sniffed again, valiantly. If his hands hadn’t been preoccupied holding Aziraphale, he would have pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That Uffizi sculpture in your hallway… reminded me of it. The gold, and how it looks...” he paused, “reckless.” He tucked the duvet closer to his ear. “It reminded me of you, dear.” He opened his eyes to gaze softly at Crowley.

At the sight of his tear-streaked face, Aziraphale melted. “Oh Crowley, come here.”

Crowley did so, tucking his head into Aziraphale’s neck, and reaching an arm around his back to cling to him. One of Aziraphale’s hands whispered over the nape of Crowley’s neck, while the other held him close. 

“Oh, darling.”

Crowley’s tears trickled down his face and wet the fabric of Aziraphale’s button down. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it, love.”

They held each other like this, in the darkening flat, for a long time. Not even the high ceiling knows what they whispered to each other in that everlasting night. When they finally emerged and untwined their limbs like they were canes of a long-forgotten climbing rose, Aziraphale’s eyes were misty.

They fell asleep hand in hand, the stars which they had helped build played their light over their faces, and petals from beautiful grey roses littered the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING I LOVE EACH OF YOU SO VERY MUCH <3333
> 
> Stay safe, dears. I hope you're doing well. :)) See you in my next fic.


End file.
